"Any idea where we are?" inquired Dorothy, when Bill, after throwing out the anchor, came back to her.
"Somewhere between Norwalk and Bridgeport, I guess," he replied. "There are any number of coves along here. I'll take you ashore, now. We've got a collapsible boat aboard. Not much of a craft, but it'll take the two of us in all right. We'll go over to one of those houses, and get your father on the phone. He can come down and drive you back to New Canaan."
"Drive us both back, you mean!"
"Sorry--but it can't be done. I've got to take this old bus home as soon as the wind dies down a little more."
"How long do you suppose that will be?" asked Dorothy quietly.
Bill glanced up at the black, overcast sky and then turned his gaze overside and studied the water toward the inlet's mouth.
"Oh, in about an hour I'll be able to take off."
"Then I'll wait and fly back with you."
"You certainly are a sportsman," he applauded and looked at his wrist watch. "It's only ten to six--though anyone would think it was midnight. I'll tell you what--suppose I shove off in the dinghy. I'll row ashore and telephone your Dad from the nearest house. He will be half crazy if he knows you were out sailing in that blow and haven't reported back to the club. In the meantime, you might scare up something to eat. There's cocoa, condensed milk, crackers and other stuff in the cabin locker nearest the stove. You must be starved--I know I am!"
They were standing on one of the narrow decks that ran from amidships forward to the nose of the plane below the pilot house.